


Flightless

by orphan_account



Category: mcyt
Genre: 1000 words, Angst, Clipped, Gen, Hurt, Little to no comfort, Mild angst ig, Oneshot, Philza gets his wings clipped, Short, TechnoBlade, Tommy - Freeform, Wings, devastated, may or may not rewrtie, philza - Freeform, sbi, sleepboisdymamic, techno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28381044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Clipping is the process in which one trims a bird’s primary wing feathers so it is no longer capable of flight. The process can be painless, however it can inflict severe physiological trauma.“I’m flightless and helpless. Regardless of either, I promise I’ll keep you both safe. If giving up something this precious means you’re both in my arms tonight, it’ll give it up a thousand times over.”-If anyone of the content creators claim they’re uncomfortable with the work or fiction I will immediately remove it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 85





	Flightless

**Author's Note:**

> Side note: it’s exactly 1:40 am. I am so tired and I have no clue what I wrote. So enjoy.

“Philza, it’s time.”

The heals click against the wood. The masked man enters uninvited, and he leans against the doorframe. The creaks echo only to be muffled by the cracking and moaning of the fireplace.

“I’m well aware, Dream.”

The name is said with a spite, and said quickly, as though the word will leave a bad taste in his mouth or put a gross residue in its wake. 

No words were uttered the whole time they stealthily exited L’manberg. The goal was to be quiet. The masked man did not wish to bring a poor reputation on himself. Not only so, but the process was supposed to be somewhat painful, and he definitely did not want a scream or howl of some sort to alert any of the citizens, especially Tubbo. 

Knowing Tubbo, he’d likely put a stop to the situation. Alas, it’s an agreement that the two had made though. On one hand, Philza gets to see his sons and watch them continue to grow and guide them. It’s a small price to pay.

Or so Dream thought. Truth be told, flight is a gift from the gods themselves. To fly and feel the wind through your hair, and stare at the world from a different perspective was a privilege. The old man always ensured he used it with the three boys, and was always more than happy to share his gift. Often when they were still children, they would hold onto his back as they flew through the stars, and always offering a chance to one day visit the moon. It was obviously an impossible feat, but so was flight.

As they approached a clearing, a small wooden shack sat there. It was painfully simple, and resembled that of a basic box. There was a door, and some steps leading into it.

Once inside, there sat a bed and a nightstand. Both were painfully simple.

“You can sit there. Depending on whatever is more comfortable during the process. Preferably I’d drug you, but Wilbur stole them.”

The winged man took a seat on the mattress, which made an awfully loud creak underneath his weight. 

“He stole them?”

Chuckling, Dream opened his backpack and took out some scissors.

“It’s just a accusation. I’m pretty sure it was him though.”

“That sounds like my boy.”

Dream motioned for Philza to turn around. Doing as he was told, he dragged his feet over the bed so they hung off the other side, and faced away from him. Even in the dim atmosphere, Phil could hear the snipping of the scissors as he tested them. 

“Alright. Hold your tongue please.”

With a simple nod, he sat away. 

A shiver went down his spine as the Dream took one of the wings in one hand and began forcefully extending it. Cringing slightly as the rough force he was using. Then the cutting began. Dream wasn’t skilled in this category, and at times he obviously cut too close to the bone, and skinned him in some places as well. 

Phil’s grip on the mattress tightened as the blade cut away more of the precious treasure he once carried on his back. Wincing, he arched his back and his knuckles began turning white, desperate to escape the pain as blood dripped from the base of his wing.

“Shit. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

All he received was a groan of discomfort.

Hands roughly grabbing the wing, he took the scissors and sawed his way through the feather. Each one made a painful snap and lost it’s life as it fell to the floor.

The second wing was next. But, with the little experience Dream had gained, the process was over much quicker. 

Dream knelt down in his backpack, before dropping the scissors in with a soft thud. Zipping up the backpack, he slung it over his shoulder and gazed at his creation. Sat on the mattress was a trembling man. Not from the pain, but from something else. The black wings no longer held the same shine and gracefulness as before. The wings were considerably shorter, and had jagged cuts and were incredibly uneven. In some places, blood gently rolled down each individual feather, as though a stream of water carefully picking its way down a column of rocks. The masked man clicked his tounge, and it caught the attention of Phil. Eager to catch the burning hate in his eyes, all he saw was something completely different.

Sorrow.

The man’s eyes had no trace of hatred in them. Only a sort of self pity, or even a deep self loathing. Instead of letting tears fall, Phil simply smiled and gave off his usual half laugh. But, anyone could see his true feelings behind them. There was deep sorrow, as though a phoenix realizing it would never soar through the air, showing off it’s beautiful feathers, and no longer leave trails of flames in its wake. It was like a horse had lost the yearning to run and let his legs stretch, feel the wind through his mane, or graze the hillsides. The very thing that solidified his existence was taken from him.

Taking a step back, Dream simply turned and walked out the door, hurrying away, and leaving a broken man covered in his own memories and fate.

As soon as the door clicked shut, he rushed to the floor, gathering his broken and snapped feathers in a pile. Tears and snot ran down his face, as though a volcano could no longer hold, and had finally erupted.

Sniffling, he desperately tried to gather the feathers, scraping his fingertips against the floorboards. Pulling the pile of shattered feelings up to his chest, he just stared.

***

Dragging his wings through the snow, he trudged slowly to Technoblade’s cottage. Eyebags stretched underneath his eyes and his lips were cracked from the abstinence of water. The hat was gone, and all that he could hear was the tweets of the birds that mocked him.

They mocked the fact he would never take flight.

As long as he remained here, he would never explore the skies again.

“Phil!”

“Philza!”

He immediately perked up when he heard his son’s voices. The man put a hand behind his head and let out a chuckle. 

Techno and Tommy stood side by side, and as soon as he approached them, Philza knelt down, and yanked them both into a rough embrace.

“Philza.” Began Tommy, who was immediately shushed.

Instead of using words, he used his actions.

Technoblade went to wrap his hands around his back, feeling the torn and sharp feathers, the crust of blood residue, and the sudden loss of spark.

Phil pulled away, and simply gave a pained smile, which held no sincerity behind his eyes yet it told a huge picture.

“I’m flightless and helpless. Regardless of either, I promise I’ll keep you both safe. If giving up something this precious means you’re both in my arms tonight, it’ll give it up a thousand times over.”

Leaving a last longingly gaze toward a morning dove sailing the winter’s breeze, he followed the boys back to the warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> Haha philza hurt go brr


End file.
